Justice is Coming. Delores Fossen

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      “You there, Gray?” the caller asked her. A man.

      Declan used his phone to record the call so he could have it analyzed. Hopefully it wouldn’t be needed as part of a murder investigation—Declan’s own or Eden’s.

      “I’m here,” she answered. “I’m sure you heard the shots. O’Malley’s dead, so give me the password to delete the lies you planted on my computer.”

      That request meshed with the story she’d told Declan, but he wasn’t ready to believe her just yet. For reasons he didn’t yet understand, all of this—including her response to this call—could be part of her plan.

      “Can’t give you anything without proof,” the caller argued. “I’m sending in someone to see the body.”

      “There’s not enough time for that,” Eden answered before Declan could coach her on what to say. “O’Malley managed to get off a call to the marshals. They’re on the way. Best if we all get out of here now.”

      Declan gave her the worst glare he could manage, because that was not the way he wanted this to go down. He wanted the gunman to come inside the house. Or rather he wanted the gunman to try. Then Declan could have disarmed him and arrested his sorry butt so he could interrogate him. He darn sure didn’t want the guy running off.

      “The marshals?” the caller growled. “How much time before they arrive?”

      Maybe the glare worked, because she hesitated. “I’m not sure.”

      Declan pointed toward the rifleman and then toward his front door. “Tell him to come in,” he mouthed.

      After a long hesitation, she gave another shaky nod. “You should have time to check the body if you make it quick.”

      But the caller didn’t jump at the chance to do that. “I have a better idea. You go ahead and get out of there, and I’ll verify O’Malley’s dead once you’re gone. Wouldn’t want the marshals to catch you.”

      There was a taunting edge to his tone, but he didn’t give Eden a chance to come back with a response. “Leave now,” the caller said. “Walk out the front door and head straight for your car that you left on the ranch trail. If you go anywhere but there, our deal is off.” He ended the call.

      Eden pulled in a long breath. “I’d like my gun before I go outside.”

      Declan looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “The caller doesn’t believe you killed me,” he pointed out. “And the moment you walk out that door, his hired gun will bring you down before you can blink. You’re a loose end, and he’s not going to let you live.”

      In fact, that had maybe been part of the plan all along. Somehow, convince Eden to kill him and then they’d kill her. That didn’t answer his question of why, but Declan figured he could get to that soon enough.

      If he kept them alive, that is.

      “He’ll try to kill me,” Eden agreed. “But I’m not a bad shot. Plus, I know he’s out there. I can fire as soon as I step on the porch.”

      “Even if you’re the best shot in the state, that’s a stupid plan. He’s already got the rifle aimed and ready, and you don’t even know if he’s alone. If he misses, which I doubt he will, he could have a friend or two ready to make sure you die.”

      Her eyes practically doubled in size. “Oh, God,” she mumbled.

      Yeah. Oh, God.

      Thankfully, Wyatt would be expecting the worst and knew how to sneak up to the house without being seen.

      “So what do we do?” she asked. “We can’t just wait. He’ll be expecting me to walk out there.”

      “Then he’ll be disappointed, won’t he? If he wants you dead—and I’m pretty sure he does—then he can send his lackey in to do the job.”

      She mumbled another “Oh, God,” and practically slumped against him. “This could have been all about me. Maybe to set me up for your murder. Maybe I made the wrong enemy.”

      “That’s one real good possibility. Or it could be he wants us both dead. A two-birds-with-one-stone kind of deal. Maybe we both made the wrong enemies.”

      But why had this moron sent her the pictures of him? Especially that one photo of him and his family? The image of it was branded into his head, but seeing it again had brought the nightmare flooding back.

      Hell.

      After all these years, the nightmare was still there even though he had no memories of the day his family had been murdered. No clues to give the cops to help them find the person or persons responsible. Ironic, since his life now was all about finding justice for others, and he hadn’t found it for his own kin.

      “When the person called you to set all of this up, did he give you any other details about my family?” Declan asked.

      “No.” Eden made a soft sound of frustration. “But I did a background check to see if I could find any connection. I couldn’t.” She paused. “I couldn’t even find a record of your birth parents.”

      Because there wasn’t one, and Declan should know because he’d searched for it for years. His cousin, Meg, had disappeared after she’d abandoned him at the Rocky Creek facility. That meant Declan had no idea if he even had any living relatives.

      “When I was a kid, I asked anyone who might know something about my mom and dad,” he told her, “but I never got any answers.”

      “Maybe the person who killed your family is behind this.”

      Yeah. More of the nightmare. The killer returning, and this time there’d be no cellar. No place to hide. But he wasn’t a little boy any longer. He was a federal marshal who’d been trained by the best: his foster dad, Kirby. Declan could take care of himself, but at the moment, that wasn’t his biggest worry.

      The killer could go after his family again.

      His new family. The one he’d had since he’d left Rocky Creek sixteen years ago.

      His brothers—Dallas, Clayton, Harlan, Slade and Wyatt—could also protect themselves, but Kirby was another matter. He was weak from chemo treatments and couldn’t fight off a fly. His long-time friend, Stella, was in the same boat. No chemo for her, but Declan figured she wasn’t capable of taking on hired guns, especially now. Both Kirby and she were no doubt still at the Maverick Springs hospital for an overnight stay, where Kirby was getting his latest round of treatments.

      Just the thought of someone hurting Kirby had Declan reaching for his phone again, but it buzzed before he could make a call and have someone go to the hospital.

      “You’ve got more than two problems, little brother,” Wyatt immediately greeted him. “In addition to the rifle guy out front, there’s another one on the west side of the house, right by the road that leads off the ranch.”

      Oh, man. One gunman and a P.I. that he maybe couldn’t trust were bad enough, but now there was a third piece in this dangerous puzzle.

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